Breakfast at Midnight
by wouldtheywriteasongforyou
Summary: "It feels like a perfect night to fall in love with strangers." Percabeth. AH. OOC. University. Inspired by "22" by Taylor Swift.


******Author's Note:  
Disclaimer: Of course PJO isn't mine. Silly you for even thinking that it was.**

My first Percabeth fic . . . guess who's excited to be posting it(!). Everyone is AH, probably OOC, and in University. Hope y'all lovelies had a wonderful 2013, and wishing you all the best for 2014. Happy holidays! xoxo Safari

Summary: It feels like a perfect night to fall in love with strangers. Percabeth. AH. OOC. University. Inspired by "22" by Taylor Swift.

**I need new friends.  
**

* * *

1

"It feels like a perfect night," the girl with stars in her eyes and hearts in her mind smiles dreamily. She twirls about the car park happily, not minding at all that her best dress is getting wet in the misty rain. The pavement is glowing and the skies above are all-knowing. A perfect night, indeed. Piper is my best friend and she has the biggest heart of gold in the world. Not literally, of course, but she is completely trusting and fearless of anyone she meets.

"Is Starbucks even open?" Drew asks from the passenger seat of my sky blue Mini Cooper. She hasn't moved a centimetre since we arrived at the car park to our favourite hang-out place.

District Thirteen, the small little shopping centre plaza we are in, has pretty much everything three university girls would ever want or need: Starbucks for those late-night study cram sessions (like, right now), Café Panem which is a local coffee shop and has a cosier and less mainstream feel to it than Starbucks, a book shop, two cute little clothing boutiques that somehow manages to meet all three of our styles and sizes, a nail salon, one bistro, a sandwich shop, and an office supply store. We've been coming to District Thirteen ever since our freshman year of University to hang out and study. Now five years later, we are all a little older and a little wiser but this part of our lives and friendship remains the same. Life as a graduate student is hard but we're making it work and since we are all procrastinators despite our best intentions, we find ourselves here yet again on a Wednesday night looking for a café so we can study and cram our heads full of formulas and theorems.

I turn the engine of the Cooper off and look out the windshield to see Piper still twirling happily about in the middle of the pouring rain. I smile indulgently at my naïve and romantic of a friend. She lives life as if it is a Disney faerie tale and believes everyone is going to end up with a happily ever after. I wish that were the case. I've recently come out of a seven year relationship with my high school sweetheart. I woke up one day and realised Luke just wasn't my Prince Charming. Perhaps it was the fact that the long-distance relationship was taking a big toll on us, but I think it was the fact that I found out through Facebook (out of all things!) that Luke was cheating on me. My other bestie had wasted no time to make fun my new ex as soon as I had told her Luke and I were done. She never liked the "commitment-shy, bitter, needs-to-grow-a-pair-of-balls, son of a bastard" that I had been dating. Her words, not mine (even though I completely agree with my bestie's assessment of Luke).

Next to me, the bestie who likes to make fun of my exes, glances up from inspecting her nails and scoffs at Piper's antics. Drew is the cynic and critic out of the three of us but I wouldn't have her any other way. "Puh-lease," she sighs exasperatedly. "It is a Wednesday night and we are on our way to Starbucks to study _C__hemistry_. How much more pathetic can we get?"

I roll my eyes at Drew's typical complaints and contradictions to anything Piper says. I honestly cannot explain how we are all besties but somehow we level each other out. I am the pragmatic and logical one to balance Piper's youthful and sweet disposition; Piper is the sunny optimist to contrast Drew's picky pessimist; and Drew has that sad, beautiful, and tragic artist thing to complement my mind of judgment and reason.

"Come on," I tell Drew who has gone back to looking at her nails. I unlock the doors and step on to the rain-kissed asphalt. Piper had run out gleefully into the rain before I had parked and shut off the engine to the Cooper, and she is still happily spinning about. For as long as I can remember, she has loved the rain and the air of romance it brings. Every year, she wishes to be kissed in the middle of the pouring rain. I think it's a cute idea but very wet and not at all romantic. To each their own, I guess.

Drew swivels her head and gives me a flat look. "Um, hello? Annabeth, it is _raining_ out there."

My bestie is so ridiculous and difficult sometimes. And, she should seriously consider becoming a meteorologist with common sense like that. "So?" I laugh, enjoying the tickle of the raindrops on my skin.

"_So_," she huffs self-importantly. "_So_ I do not want to sport the drowned rat look. I spent for-fucking-ever straightening my hair this morning."

"You – and your hair – will be fine," I assure her. "And who are we going to impress at Starbucks anyways? It's half past eleven. Most people with social lives are not going to be loitering around Starbucks at this time of night. It'll be just us and the other insane sleep-deprived insomniacs like us."

Drew hates it whenever I make valid points. She glares at me, sighs in defeat, and says: "We're dressed like hipsters anyways. I guess it just wouldn't do to waste a perfectly good Starbucks outfit by sitting in the car."

I shake my head at her fashion-conscious mind – she really did force Piper and me to dress up like hipsters tonight for this little excursion – and close the driver's door to the Cooper before beeping the lock. Except silly me, I forgot that Drew was still in the car.

"Annabeth!" she screeches and pounds on the window. She is unable to unlock the car door because she would then set the car alarm off. Typically Drew loves to make a grand entrance but it is eleven-thirty at night on a Wednesday and we're in a car park in the middle of the pouring rain. Ain't nobody got time for that sort of nonsense.

Piper stops dancing in the rain and looks over at us. "What's wrong with Drew?" she asks with genuine concern on her face.

"Nothing," I say simply as if Drew holds a temper tantrum in a locked car all the time. I loop my arm into Piper's and blow a kiss in Drew's direction before we skip our way over to the awning-covered sidewalk that lines the storefronts.

Piper gives me a disapproving look and takes my keys. There is an audible click as the doors unlock to the Cooper, and suddenly Drew comes storming out (never mind the rain, now).

"Annabeth!" Drew yells out my name again. She's not really pissed but I only know this because we've been besties for half of a dozen years. To any innocent bystander, she looks as if she is going to get into a bitch fight with me (I know she won't for fear of ruining her manicure).

"Drew!" I yell back in a much happier tone than hers and loop her left arm through my right so that Piper, Drew, and I make a human chain with me in the middle. "How's the hair?"

She legitimately growls at me in response.

"Did you hear that?" I ask Piper with wide-eyed innocence. "I think my tummy just growled in hunger. Oh, look! Starbucks is open! Why don't we stop in there?"

"Fuck you," Drew mutters but the corner of her mouth is curled up in a half-smile.

Piper laughs happily and clicks the lock on my key fob. The Cooper's lights flash, illuminating the shiny black Mustang parked next to my Cooper. That is, the shiny black Mustang that now has a pretty little scratch on the passenger's door from where my right mirror seems to have scraped alongside the car. Oops.

"Shit," Drew lets out a low whistle. "You really did a number on that car, Annabeth. How many times now have I told you that your driving sucks ass?"

"Shut up," I mutter. I'm a wonderful driver. At least, that's what my dad tells me. I consider my options here. There are a few other cars in the car park but mine is the only one next to the Mustang and therefore the logical culprit to who banged it up. I should probably move the Cooper to a different space so if the driver comes out and sees the stellar little job I (accidentally!) did on their paint job they will not know it is me. "What should I do?" I ask my besties in a slightly panicked voice. I'm a graduate student and don't have the money to spare to hand out to a stranger for ruining their previously flawless paint job. Honestly, I barely have enough money in my pocket right now to pay for the over-priced hipster coffee I'll be buying at Starbucks in a few minutes. However, my morals and personal values are telling me I need to own up to my horrible driving-slash-parking. But . . . shit. I don't _want_ to own up.

Piper and Drew look at me with wide eyes and then simultaneously step away from me in a clear gesture that says _We aren't with her_. They are the picture of wide-eyed innocence as they make a beeline for Starbucks and leave me at the scene of the crime.

Sometimes, I reconsider my choice in friends. Who am I kidding, though? I would do the same thing if I were in their position.

I look around the car park. It's deserted of human life and only abandoned parked cars remain. The misty rain has left a slight film of condensation on the Mustang's windows. I don't know who the driver is (and I really do not want to find out) but I hike up my metaphorical big girl knickers and march over to the Mustang to inspect the damage.

_Ho-ly shit._

I cringe and glare at the Cooper's mirror. Who knew it could cause so much freaking damage? There is a wicked jagged line slashed across the passenger door of the Mustang. It almost makes the Mustang look like it got keyed by a vengeful ex-girlfriend. (If only this had been Luke's car instead . . . .)

"I am so sorry," I breathe and then glance furtively around the car park again. It is late at night and if anyone had just seen me talk to myself they would have assumed I was a late night crazy hobo or something.

I hope the driver to this Mustang is preoccupied with whichever shop they are in and do not look outside the storefront window and see me writing on their car's windshield. Cos hell yeah, that is my brilliant plan to save my ass: write my apology on the windshield of the unfortunate victim's car.

_Sorry. I'm the one who accidentally __nudged __your car. In my defence your left front wheel is two centimetres over the parking line and in my spot. Sorry again. I would give you money to compensate for the damage but I'm broke. Not my fault._

I do not know how to end the message (it's a pretty lengthy message to be writing on a windshield, anyways) and so I just leave it at that. Also, I am cold and this ridiculous hipster outfit Drew made me dress in is completely soaked through by now. And of course, because the gods hate me, the white and blue pinstriped button-down she'd convinced me to wear has turned transparent. At least I wore one of my Victoria's Secret lacy push-up bras. Not that I am trying to impress anyone or anything. I have been depressingly single for a loooong time now. _Thanks, Luke_.

The jeans I am in are the ones Drew said made my ass look fantastic but now they are skin-tight from the rain and are a wedgie machine. As I cross the car park to go hide in the shelter of the awning-covered sidewalk, I realise that my brown Oxford kitten heels pretty much have a puddle of water in them that could qualify as a lake. Each step I take oozes rainwater out and it is a wonder that I do not slip and break my neck or something. My footsteps sound like a friggin' duck. To compensate, I change my gait but now I _look_ like a duck what with the way I am waddling.

Holy mother of Minerva, I need to start praying at the Feast of Fortuna or something because seriously, this bad luck is getting quite irksome.

Now it is time to move the Cooper so I do not look like the offender even though I so obviously am in this situation. Stupid me, I have to go back out into the rain. What was the point of walking over to the sidewalk when I was literally right by my car? I unlock my car and cringe at the squelching sound my wet jeans make on the interior of the Cooper's leather seats. My stepmum is going to be so pissed when she sees that I have ruined her graduation present to me. Oops. I love the Cooper and it is killing me to get the interior wet but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I park the Cooper safely five spots away from the Mustang and pray to any deities up in the heavens that no one was watching me remove my evidence from the scene of the "crime". Is it considered a hit-and-run if I didn't run away that far? There are no other cars surrounding the Cooper now, so I hope I do not look even more suspicious than if I had stayed next to the Mustang. Shit! Is the car park of District Thirteen under camera surveillance? It would be just my luck that the Mustang's owner is a member of MI6 or a professional technology hacker or something ridiculous that could get me sentenced to prison.

"It was an accident!" I yell out but then clap a hand over my mouth in mortification. Way to draw even more suspicious attention to myself.

There is no doubt about it that I am blushing brighter than a fireworks show. Gods, I need some caffeine in me _pronto_. It is clear that I cannot function like a normal human being at this time of night without some sort of magic overpriced coffee in my system.

I waddle my way over to Starbucks, and as soon as I open the door I am assaulted by a smell that is purely heaven. I inhale deeply and the stress of my life melts away. I need this scent to be bottled and sold or something because I swear, it is _magical_. My eyes dart towards the non-existent line at the barista's counter. The hell? Where are my besties and why aren't they waiting for my grand entrance? Once I take inventory of the coffee shop's inhabitants I notice that my supposed besties already have their Ventis and are studiously ignoring my glare of disapproval. Gods, I need to take them back to the bestie shop I purchased them at and demand for a refund because they are obviously defective and _suck_.

I march up to the counter with my nose stuck snootily up in the air and with as much dignity as I can project in clinging sopping wet clothes and the river of rainwater that is flowing in my wake. Piper and Drew better watch their backs because I am the queen at revenge and that is a dish being served to them reaaaally soon.

"Hi, how may I help you?" a bored and sleep-deprived girl asks me as she pops her gum. She lets out an ear-shattering yawn and blinks blearily at me.

Wow, it is only quarter-til-midnight. It isn't _that_ late and especially not late for a small little college town like the one this is. "Venti triple-shot caramel latte," I tell her. I even add in a 'please' because I am not a complete bitch even though the world seems to be conspiring against me lately.

"And can I have a name for that?"

"Annabeth," I tell her even though the shop isn't that full save for a few sophomore college guys pulling an all-nighter like Piper, Drew, and I are. They have their drinks, though, so I figure I am the only one in line and do not need a name to label my drink. But whatever floats Zombie Girl's boat, I guess. I have a feeling most of her brain is working on autopilot while the rest of it sleeps. I can't really blame her for not being all there right now.

Piper and Drew have picked out the comfy leather chairs for us to work in. I walk over and slip into one of the buttery leather and let out a content sigh. My eyelids flutter close and this is my happy place. Mm.

A slurp of a Venti double-chocolate-mocha-with-chocolate-syrup-on-top -hold-the-whipped-cream jolts me out of my reverie. My head slowly swivels in Piper's direction. She is sitting idly, sipping away at her mocha and staring out the Starbucks window. There is nothing to see since the interior light of Starbucks is being reflected back to us in the glass window, but faintly the world outside is visible. Rain trickles down the glass in rivulets. The streetlights beam on the ground in hazy blurred constellations. None of us are working on our studies.

"Who brought in the textbooks?" I ask my besties after a few more coffee-sipped moments (from Piper and Drew, that is. I am currently java-free and that is quickly becoming not okay with me).

Their heads turn to face me, and they say slowly: "It was your week to do it, Annabeth."

No. That can't be true. It was my week _last_ week . . . right?

"Fuck," I groan out when I realise my error.

"Fuck," Drew agrees cheerfully and takes a big gulp of her drink.

I glare at her. Sometimes her little comments really are not helpful. She shrugs and adds: "Hey, slut. You're looking a little cold. You might want to cover up before you and your nips get charged with indecent public exposure."

A single glance down at my chest confirms that Drew's ex_treme_ly tactful statement is unfortunately true. I grab the University sweatshirt she had tossed to me and quickly tug it over my head to hide my see-through blouse and thin, lacy bra. My life must be straight off a reality show's script because I am quite certain that this sort of shit never happens to a normal, ordinary person.

"So . . .," Piper says slowly. "Are you going to go back out and get the textbooks out of the boot of the Cooper?"

I whine: "Do I _have_ to?"

Drew aims a lethal skin-incinerating glare at me. "Yuh-huh you are, because bitch if you dragged us to Starbucks for a study night when instead we could have been partying or doing something substantial towards our social life _I will end you_."

All right, so she is not joking with this threat. "But . . . but it is _raining_," I point out pathetically as I repeat Drew's earlier words.

There is no sympathy in her dark brown eyes. "Go," she says in a deathly serious voice.

Piper smiles brightly at me. "Make sure not to get the textbooks wet!" she calls out in what she thinks is a helpful-friendly-reminder tone as I leave Starbucks and its wonderful invigorating smell of percolating coffee beans.

I need new friends.

And, of course, the spot I parked the Cooper in is like ten bajillion kilometres away from the entrance to Starbucks _and_ is in a place where the sidewalk in front of it is not awning-covered. Athena Almighty, my life is a hot mess. Bloody hell. I just want to break a plate in frustration or something.

The whole textbook (mis)adventure actually goes off a lot smoother than I intended. I may or may not have switched the textbook cover sleeves of Piper's and Drew's books while I was outside, though. It's not one of my grander revenge plans but they'll be a chapter or two into their work before they realise what I have done. That's forty-five wasted minutes of their lives they will never get back. Heh, heh, heh.

I've just set the four Chemistry textbooks down on to the coffee table in front of our chairs and have plunked down upon the brown buttery leather heaven of my own chair when I hear a flat, bored voice call out uninterestedly: "Annabeth . . .?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I grumble and sigh as I have to make the effort to stand up and go get my Venti.

Drew laughs at my struggles, but Piper offers sweetly: "Do you want me to get that for you, Annabeth?"

All right, so maybe Drew is the only bestie who needs to be refunded. I'd like to keep Piper; she is too incredibly sweet and thoughtful.

"I've got it, but thanks," I tell Piper. I would take her up on her offer but I need that triple-shot of caffeine in me as soon as humanly possible.

Cranky and unbearably pissy is the best way to describe my mood right before I take that first heavenly sip of coffee. I can feel my inner bitch clawing her way out as I head up to the barista's counter. My OCD nature rears its ugly head and I start mentally criticising everything I see.

The lights are too bright in here. The middle light on the chilled display case of juices and bottled frappuccinos is flickering in irregular intervals. The table over by the rubbish bin has been given a half-hearted swipe and there is a waiting marching line of ants ready to pick up the abandoned crumbs one-by-one. Zombie Girl's ponytail is horrendously messy and all-over the place – she should consider fixing it before a hair drops into a poor unsuspecting customer's Venti triple-shot caramel latte.

Zombie Girl eyes me rudely and scoffs, "You aren't Jackson."

The fuck? "Er, no," I say. "But you called my name. Annabeth."

"Jackson's drink is queued in front of yours."

"My drink is obviously ready," I say and point to the innocent Venti labelled 'Annabeth' in the most shambolic script I have ever seen. The 'e' is upside down and the 'b' looks like a 'd'. My name isn't a weird name yet she has managed to epically screw the spelling up.

"Miss, you have to wait your turn."

I reach for my wallet to pay for my drink (maybe if I pay she'll let me take it and leave since this Jackson guy is taking longer than the dinosaur's extinction to get his ass over here?) but the Zombie Girl waves me off.

"Your drink has already been taken care of," she informs me in between snaps of her gum.

I raise my eyebrows disbelievingly at her. "I get a free Venti?" I ask incredulously because let's face it, that shit is expensive.

Zombie Girl rolls her bloodshot eyes at me. I am not appreciating her attitude a single bit. "_No_," she intones rudely. I think she then proceeds to explain what's going on but I tune her out as soon as my ears pick up on the voice of an angel.

"Thanks. I got it," a deliciously low voice mumbles and a tanned hand reaches out to grab the cup of java that has 'Jackson' scrawled on it.

I turn a wide-eyed wonderstruck gaze to the owner of the most beautiful speaking voice I have ever heard. And then I think I die because my heart stops and all the breath in my body leaves in an embarrassing _whoosh_.

He's not an angel; he's a god. A wild riot of inky dark hair tumbles artfully every which way on top of his head. There is a slight wave pattern to it, and I just want to run my fingers through the strands and mess it all up. A lovely shadow of stubble graces his jawline which belies he is no stranger to pulling all-nighters for studying. Would it be weird if I told him I wanted to lick that jaw of his? Yeah? Better keep that thought to myself then. He is definitely a grad student and not a college student because there is no way a twenty year old can look as panty-dropping hawt as this man in front of me. Sea green eyes meet mine, pause, and then slide right over me as he grabs his cup of coffee and leaves the barista's counter. He is in grey sweats with the name of our university emblazoned on it advertising that he was (is? Can grad students compete in campus sports?) a member of the varsity water polo team. And let me tell you, his ass looks absolutely fan-fucking-tastic in those sweatpants.

"Uh-huh," I nod absentmindedly to Zombie Girl and take my Venti now that _Jackson_ apparently has gotten his drink. I have no idea what she has been blathering on to me about because I was, ahem, preoccupied with eye-fucking this stranger. Yum. I do not know why I get a free Venti and I no longer care because my mind is filled with thoughts about this godly stranger I've just seen.

I walk back to our chairs in a daze. Piper and Drew share a glance before they are all over me.

"Oh my gods," Piper breathes out.

"Did you see –" Drew begins.

"Yeah," I smile sappily.

"You just –"

"Yeah."

"That hair –"

"Those eyes –"

"Girl, please. That _ass_ . . . ."

"Yeah," I sigh out happily.

"His name," Drew demands.

"Jackson," I say. "Varsity water polo team."

"Hot."

"Yeah."

"We picked a great night to have breakfast at midnight."

"Yeah."

A collective sigh goes around our triangle of chairs as we reminisce about the hottest grad student we have ever seen in our lives.

"You should've seen your face!" Piper squeals after a moment.

"Our little pragmatist who doesn't believe in soul-mates or love at first sight was a goner when she caught sight of _Jack_son," Drew laughs and reaches over to give Piper a high-five.

I glare at them. "I did not! Perhaps it was lust at first sight but it was most definitely not _love_ at first sight!" I've been trying to instill in them since the moment I saw them that it is not logically possible for a person to make assumptions that are a hundred percent correct simply based on a first impression of a stranger.

"Oh, honey, denial isn't just a river in Egypt," Drew snorts and reaches over to pat my arm mock-sympathetically. Her hand freezes, though, and she whispers in a stricken voice: "_Shit_, Annabeth. Look out the window."

Piper and I both immediately look to see what has made our typically unfazed Drew freeze in horror. And then, shit, I wish I did not witness this.

Bloody hell. Grey sweatpants stop in front of the black Mustang. He leans forward to squint at my writing on his windshield (how the hell did it not get washed away by the rain?). Actually, I think that it is rather important to mention that lovely ass that is on full display as Jackson leans over to read my scrawling, rambling message I left him. And then, I feel like the world is spinning in slow motion when he straightens up abruptly and turns to face the shopfront window of Starbucks where Piper, Drew, and I are staring unabashedly at him.

Sea green eyes flick over each of our faces. We're all holding our breaths and hoping we look like innocent angels. _Not_. I snort at the thought and Jackson's eyes snap to mine and narrow accusingly at me.

Shiiiiit. I guess we're not going to be strangers much longer because the door to Starbucks opens once more and in comes a deliciously wet and pissed man in sweatpants. Jackson strides purposefully over to our little gathering by the window and clears his throat.

"I believe you are the one who quote-unquote 'nudged' my Mustang?" the sexy-as-sin man named Jackson directs the question to me.

"I . . . ah . . . it was, well you see, it was an . . . accident?" I manage to stammer out. My cheeks are burning with guilt and gods, why can't I be a talented liar?

Jackson glares at me, unamused. "You fucked up Blackjack," he tells me accusingly.

My brow furrows as I try to make sense of what he said. "You . . . you named your Mustang 'Blackjack'?"

He arches an eyebrow. Whoa. His hotness just hit the stratosphere. "I'll be needing your insurance information," he demands bluntly with that cocky superior-than-thou tone of his.

I eye him sceptically. "Er, I don't think that'll be necessary." My dad's raised me not to give out information to strangers. Especially not at midnight. (Apparently that was when pedophiles roamed? I have no idea or proof to substantiate what my father taught me about street smarts.)

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Uh, yes it's rather necessary so I can find out your address and swing by your flat to pick you up for our date tomorrow. Is seven all right?"

Drew picks this moment to interject. "Pardon me, but my mate has standards. You want to try asking her out in a more respectful way, buddy?"

Jackson runs a hand through his hair. I suddenly realise that beneath his cocky bravado he is actually a bit intimidated and nervous. I place a restraining hand on Drew's arm (somewhere in this conversation she started jabbing Jackson's arm with every point she had to make against him) and smile encouragingly up at Jackson.

"Hi, I'm Annabeth," I tell him pleasantly and a bit over-caffeinatedly. "I drink a triple-shot caramel latte and yes, I am the one who - as you so eloquently put it - 'fucked up' your Mustang. Really, I am terribly sorry about my awful parking skills. I just . . . I don't know. My spatial ability really isn't one of my strong points. I guess architecture isn't my thing, right?" Insert awkward babbling laugh. "Good thing I didn't pick that to be my major. Wouldn't want to design a house that would end up as a liability to the clients and the builder. That would be no good. You know, usually I don't talk this much. I don't know why I am talking this much. Maybe it's the Venti? Hey, did you know I got my Venti for free? Weird, huh? That shit is expensive. I wonder if Starbucks is doing a promo or something. Huh. They should advertise better if they're doing promos. It would be better for their business. Not that their business is lacking but - "

Dear gods, I need to shut up but so far Piper and Drew have been watching me ramble on with wide, amused eyes. Jackson, on the other hand, looks even more freaked out and slightly annoyed and damn, I really do wish I had a verbal filter or something. This is quickly becoming embarrassing.

"- so hey, you're on the water polo team? How cool! I've always wanted to go to one of the games. Or are they called matches? You tell me. Are they more interesting than swim meets? I've heard that water polo can get violent. Do you know Clarisse? She was my freshman roommate. She's on the team, and let me tell you, that girl is _scary_. I think she had a bloody nose more often than not. Blech. I hate blood. Guess I shouldn't become a doctor either. Blood is gross. Ick. So anyway, are you still mad at me about your Mustang? I am sorry about that. I have, like, four dollars I can give to you in compensation because it was originally to pay for my Venti but I got that shit for free! Can you believe that? I can't. Maybe it was a Starbucks promotion or something. Wait, didn't I already say that? Too many thoughts in my head. Zeus's masterbolt, it is late. It's midnight and I am having breakfast and talking to a stranger. Oh gods, why hasn't anyone shut me up yet? This is so embarrassing. Piper, Drew, say something! Gods, you guys are the worst besties in the world. I am committing social suicide over here and y'all aren't helping a single bit! This is the worst -"

"Annabeth," Jackson (finally!) intervenes.

"Meep!" I squeak out and then cover my face with my hands. I wish lightning would come down from the heavens and strike me right now or something.

"Seven, all right? I'll swing by your flat at seven for dinner and a film."

"You still want to go out on a date with me?" I ask incredulously. This guy has some serious balls to be putting up with my crazy.

"You still want to go out on a date with her?" Drew echoes in equal disbelief. I hit my bestie's arm and give her a bitch glare. How dare she sabotage my chance with him?

Jackson grins impishly. "I know, I know. I seem pretty odd, don't I? But actually, Annabeth owes me one. Remember that wicked New Year's Eve party at Connor's senior year?"

My eyes widen. "Fuck," I moan at the memory and with every passing second, that lightning bolt strike is sounding more and more appealing. "_No_."

"Annabeth?" Piper asks in confusion.

"Please, please, _please_ tell me you are not the guy I dumped champagne all over," I beg. I must've been hella drunk to not remember this man and his perfect, perfect face.

He laughs. "Er, no. That wasn't me."

"The one I shoved cake into their hair?"

"Nope."

"Danced shirtless with on top of tables?"

"Wrong again."

Piper and Drew eyed me strangely after this last admission. "Aphrodite's mirror, Annabeth," Piper let out a low whistle. "Aren't you quite the party animal!"

"Our girl is fuh-reaky when she gets drunk!" Drew applauds me. "Gods, girl, you've been holding out on us!"

I threw them a disapproving look. That was senior year of my undergrad and they were off spending Christmas break with their boyfriends and family in different timezones while I stayed on campus and somehow ended up at Connor Mercury's New Year's Eve party. And I. Got. Trashed. It was definitely not one of my better moments and I had stupidly hoped that it would never come back to bite me in the ass.

"How about 'the boy who got pushed in to a pool with you and then you kissed at midnight'?" Jackson answers for me with a sweet and sincere smile on his face.

"You mean the boy from New York who she wouldn't stop pining and crying about until - " I clamp a hand over Piper's mouth before she can finish that sentence.

"You mean the boy with the six-pack and the long fingers and the wet chlorinated boxers and the I-Won't-Have-Sex-With-A-Pretty-Drunk-Girl rule - " I clamp my other hand over Drew's mouth before she can finish her sentence.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hate, hate, hate that this is happening to me. I never wanted to see him again after that night. I never wanted to owe him anything or be in his debt or even breathe the same air as him. Because even though he was my first New-Year's-Eve kiss, even though he was a complete and virtual stranger that night in December, even though he could talk intelligently about F Scott Fitzgerald and Shakespeare after countless bottles of beer, even though he looked at me like I put the stars in the sky, even though he could string pretty deceiving words into a pearl necklace of a sentence, even though he lived in another fucking timezone and I _knew_ I would never see him again, I still fell in love for him and subsequently got heartbroken when he wasn't there anymore on New Year's Day.

_He_ is the reason why I don't believe in love at first sight anymore. _He _is the secret I kept from Luke even though nothing ever happened between him and I that New Year's Eve. _He_ is from across the country and what the hell is he doing in District Thirteen?

I look up in to those suddenly familiar bottle-green eyes and memories of that one perfect night come crashing down over me. "All right," I say neutrally. I can't really be blamed for giving in to his wishes: I want answers and a resolution to this unresolved history? tension? debt? between the two of us. Plus, Jackson is some serious eye candy. "I accept your offer of dinner. But not the movie - it's not a date, okay? We need to rationally talk this out, this thing between us."

His face falls and he nods stiffly. He understands that this isn't some sort of faerie-tale-ending-happily-ever-after shit that Piper believes in. This is real life and the hurt and regret of a broken-hearted girl and the remorse and redemption of a heartbreaker boy.

"I'll see you tomorrow at seven, Percy."

[-]

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**Author's Note: **This T-rated one-shot is COMPLETE but I will be expanding this into a mini M-rated story. Review, lovelies. HAPPY NEW YEAR!**  
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